


Making Friends

by ChocolateChipFic (Leigh_B)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Lavellan Settling into place, No baby stuffs here, Provincial Council, Running of an Empire, fic of a fic, things and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 03:01:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6782647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leigh_B/pseuds/ChocolateChipFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So... I remembered that the reason I chose to write the Momvellan fics as a series was so that I could write disjointed ficlets and not worry so much about plot continuity. And so, this fic is born!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/gifts).



> Just a quick rundown of the set up here: Franken!Solas, upon procuring Da'vhenan, realized that she was not faring very well as a wayward traveler jumping between worlds. After about a year of caring for her, he selected a version of reality in which Elvhenan was in its height. He slayed all of the Enavuris present and went about conquering what he believed to be the perfect world for his daughter. It fed into all of the impulses buzzing around from like... the Andruil and Falon'Din components of his person too. During a lull in which the remaining rebels have tucked themselves away and Solas has begun to focus on reconstruction, Da'vhenan seizes the chance to whisk off and seek out a version of her mother. Eventually, I will write the fics for Halani agreeing to come back to this version of Elvhenan with them. For now, have some vaguely fluffy bits in which Halani is attempting to fill her new role and get a grip on what exactly Franken!Solas is about... because nobody’s really sure except for Feynites, and I am really trying my best to capture her super complex characterization here @ .@

All the necessary parties arrive at the Provincial Council long before she and Solas set foot inside the vast chamber. There is a burst of sound as the seated council members scramble to their feet in respectful acknowledgement, shifting armor and the scream of heavy wooden furniture resisting adjustment. The room’s ambient noise plunges immediately into burdened silence. Their footsteps echo conspicuously over the gleaming floor tiles, and the squeal of the massive chair Solas pulls out for her puts Halani’s teeth on edge.

There is a nervous roil in her stomach as the pointed stares of his advisers scrape against her. She tries to catalog all of the etiquette lessons that she’s undergone for proper introductions and official discussions of warfare. Her mind buzzes as she sweeps the flowing train of her dress to the side and begins to sit with all of the poise that she can muster. She is still very unaccustomed to such opulent clothing, and wishes profoundly that she fought harder to wear armor, as the majority of the council members do.

The soft pop of Solas’ lips against the fingers she curled over his offered palm echoes more loudly than their footsteps or the stubborn furniture. She is thrown off balance by the gesture, and drops unceremoniously down into the ridiculously garish seat with none of her attempted elegance whatsoever. She isn’t sure why she expected him to rein in overtly affectionate acts, suffice to say that performing such things in the presence of people that one controls through fear is not often done.

Solas goes on to haul his own monstrous throne of a chair a full foot nearer to her. The scraping wail that it sends through the room makes her cringe. He then reclaims her kissed hand, twining his armored fingers through her gloveless ones as he lowers into his seat. He smiles at her, a candid reassurance that he gives in spite of their potentially conniving audience, and plants another swift kiss over her hand before announcing that the Council may be seated.

Halani is surprised, and besotted, though mostly surprised. She reminds herself to sort through his possible motives. Solas could be sending some message with these actions, though she’s not sure how this particularly sappy display would further intimidate these people. She is not alone in her confusion. Across the table, every councilperson is staring in an array of emotion that varies from abject horror to subtle relief. One person in particular, a hunter clad in jagged crimson armor, endeavors to blink impassively at the two of them. Unfortunately, their attempt falls rather flat. The sentiment reflected in their eyes makes it seem as though Halani and Solas have each sprouted a very interesting second head that’s begun to babble in blasphemous tongues.

Halani finds it difficult to focus on the meeting. Nothing is directed toward her, she is still a bit fuzzy on the names of the various provinces and their wardens, and she is utterly distracted by the lazy way Solas is running a finger up and down her forearm. The bladed tip of his gauntlet whispers against her skin, gooseflesh rising and falling in its wake. She is at once peaked and made drowsy by the gesture, and it irritates her that such a simple thing should draw her mind away from the important matters being discussed.

Halani chooses to staunchly ignore Solas and manages to engage the red one in conversation. They humbly bring forth a conundrum involving more provisions necessary for a scouting mission in pursuit of the rebels. She jumps to answer before anyone else gets the chance.

“Then prepare an extra caravan and have it tended by people who will know how best to work with the large animals hauling it. If you are Uthvir,” she says, squinting her eyes in hopes that she’s selected the correct name from her memory. “Your last report states that three hunters were severely injured while trying to wrangle the beasts. It also mentions that you’d prefer to stick with materials that can be carried in saddlebags and simple wagons, but that’s just not a realistic way to transport the things that you’ll need for such a large party.”

There is no response.

Halani’s squint becomes a wince. “You are Uthvir, aren’t you?”

The hunter’s eyes meet hers with a truer shade of the avian impassivity that she saw them trying for earlier. “You are correct. I am Uthvir, m-“ the hunter’s gaze darts toward Solas. They abandon what was obviously going to be the word _my_ and settle for a nondescript “-Lady.”

Well… she had suspected Solas’ jealousy, but never seen evidence of it. Whatever manner he’d instructed the members of his court to use when interacting with her, it had obviously come along with a healthy dose of possessive warning. This realization rankles, and Halani attempts to withdraw her hand from his.

His iron grip catches her wrist. The hand that had been passing affectionately up and down her arm now bars it in place. She cannot pull away without either cutting herself on his gauntlet or making a verbal request that he refrain from holding her hand beneath the table. She settles for shooting him a sidelong glare while jabbing a quick bolt of dissatisfaction in his direction.

For a contradictory tyrant that is prone to violent censures, Solas manages an admirable impression of guileless youth. His expression is loose. He is pretending to be intrigued by something on his opposite side. Most of his fake interest seems to be directed toward one of the pillars supporting the room’s vaulted ceiling. She half expects him to make an awkward transitional comment about the history and application of columns as an architectural draw.

“I am Halani, Uthvir,” she introduces herself, planning to dispel this awkwardness about which title should be used in reference to her. “And if you feel the need to refer to me as ‘Lady,’ then at least allow it to preface my name. If any of you find it necessary to refer to me as anything other than my given name, let it be Lavellan.”      

Halani thought that she’d detected hints of sass in the reports authored by Uthvir, and her fellow hunter does not disappoint. It’s as though they can’t help themselves. A brow arches. Their mouth quirks into a cheeky shape. When they speak, their voice keys in on the serene note that is conversely used for both snide remarks and loving praise.

“Lady Halani, you should know that I _do_ hate to contradict you, but I’m afraid I must for the sake of both my mission as well as my cozy seat on this fancy council.”

Solas tenses for a moment. She can feel his eyes slide from the far column to dart between her face and that of Uthvir. Halani bumps her knee against his, playful and chiding. She can feel his disapproval coiling taught beside her, and does not want it to lash out against Uthvir.

“Contradict away!” she invites readily, a genuine eagerness shining in her voice. She’s longed to actually take part in the meeting, and now she wonders what other solutions can be garnered for the scouting provisions.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, all of the thanks go to everyone who reads this and especially to Feynite. I am in the middle of editing your Petrarchan sonnet. It will be a thing. <3


End file.
